juxtaposition
by xoVanilla-Bean
Summary: It wasn't the first time that he had given her a flower, but nothing had really changed. — CloudTifa


**A/N: **Oh, good grief. This came out so much DIFFERENTLY than I had planned. I was just going to let the smaller version of Cloud give Tifa a flower. Don't know where all the extra stuff came from.

And I'm pretty sure Cloud didn't say anything to Tifa when you get to choose for him to give her the flower. But I think it would fit better into this story anyway.

So I hope you guys enjoy this! **REALLYREALLY**.

**juxt**a_position_

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It wasn't the first time he had given her a flower, but he didn't know that.

When they were kids, there had always been the freshly distinct wind that blew over Nibelheim from the mountain. It gave him confidence, building him closer and closer to his climax each day. It must've been an indication when he found the flower patch that the confidence wouldn't go to waste.

But he could only observe them. They reminded him too much of her, and he didn't want his clumsy, awkward hands to ruin them. He would be ruining her in the same instance.

So he took in the intriguing, garnet center and the petals that were so golden, they were white. They were white with an indescribable light that was as exceedingly brilliant as she. He got on his hands and knees, wanting _so much_ to touch them and to know what the silky, nameless flower would feel like under his incapable hands.

Sometimes, he would watch her with the ostentatious bullies. No matter how well they bragged, showed off, they would never be good enough for her. She was the Goddess of Nibelheim. Didn't they know? Didn't they see? Why weren't they on their knees, praising her and giving her gifts that (as he would see it) would mean nothing-nothing-nothing to her.

When they'd catch him staring, they would glare nasty nothings (because, they really weren't anything greater than the gifts) but he would ignore them. Because usually, he was rewarded a smile from _the goddess_ and if he wasn't sitting on his front porch, he would lose his footing and fall in a mangled heap. That's all it took--a smile. He never was _that_ strong.

He held the flower with the utmost care, shaking just a little. He rubbed his finger around the bottom of the neatly cut stem. He had used the small, sharp blade of his pocket knife. He had always had a keen precision with a blade, but his hands alone were nothing more than recklessly dull.

He found her, momentarily alone, _alone_, with eyes bright, holding fathomless depths, and optimism exuding out of her pores. His hands were being imprinted into the stem.

She locked eyes with him for a brief moment as he shuffled to her spot in the grass. But he had to look away, because her eyes were so ruby, ruby red, and he had never done something quite as bold. She might find something in his eyes that she wouldn't like. The grass was much less intimidating.

"I...uh...fou...," he muttered unintelligible nothings, because he wasn't any better than the bullies that always-always-always hung around. He held out the flower, face oozing acid. His eyes peeked up.

And what he saw was big, bright, _shiny_ eyes that became diamonds and a smile that gave more happiness than the sky and more brilliance than the sun.

Her voice even dripped sunshine. "Thank you. Cloud." She was above him then, letting his name swim in the light, and he was soaring and soaring and falling and falling. He had nothing to grab onto except her.

As he held the almost wilting flower, he couldn't help but notice the white, dulled center and the lackluster, yellow petals. He had a vague recollection that something wasn't quite right.

But she was still there, in the dank, musty, alcoholic atmosphere that they were calling 'home'. Yet, even her magic--that he felt, that he _saw_--was fading away.

He was walking across the wooden floorboards, holding the tiny, dim flower in his hands--were they shaking?

And she was in front of him, catching his presence, catching his eyes. But he looked down and away, because right now, there was something there, in his face and in his eyes, he felt that didn't belong. He would hate her to see. Would hate for her to hate.

But the floorboards--they were green and leafy and _different_--but the same. And his face...it had a sensation that could rival acid.

"I...uh...fou...," he saw houses in his peripherals and he _didn't know why. _But all he cared about was the moment. So he couldn't stop his awful-awful eyes from peeking to see--

...it was different. But it was the same. The twinkle that was lacking in her ruby, ruby red eyes was...there. _She_ was really there. And her smile, it couldn't compare to the sky and the sun. It was so much greater.

So much more complete. So much life was blooming, all from his flower that suddenly, suddenly matched her magnificence.

Her voice was ironed, but it had an undertone of sweetness that was fully, completely_ her_. He shouldn't have known, but he felt memory prickles urging blind remembrance for the girl before him.

"Th-thank you, Cloud." She was above him, and he had a feeling that she always was and always would be. His name rolled off her tongue like a foreign familiarity--so sweet, so natural, so _real._

He found himself soaring in a freshly, distinct wind, with her smile that was almost too bright.

And he found himself falling, with her arm outstretched and reaching.

Because she was the Goddess of Nibelheim, and he was her loyal knight and protector.

Somehow, it all made sense.

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O_O I think I need practice on writing romancey-sweet things.  
Anyway, **please review**! :D


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